


and every skyline

by vannes



Series: Kindergarten Teacher Laurent [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Auguste is still dead sorry, Brief Mentions Of Canon-Typical Themes, M/M, This Is Just Laurent Being Happy And Loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannes/pseuds/vannes
Summary: “Did you pick up what I asked?”“Oh, yeah,” Damen says, holding up the bag. “Hard candies, chocolates—really, Laurent, you’re giving them candy? I thought you wanted their parents to like you.”The corners of his mouth are teased up, and Laurent can tell he’s trying to repress the smile. Damen’s hand tightens on his waist; he’s trying not to laugh.“You’re terrible,” Laurent decides judiciously. “Youknowthat’s not what I meant.”“What?” Damen’s facade has fallen away completely, and this time when he leans down for a kiss it’s with a smile, shaking a little with repressed laughter.“Damianos—”Laurent begins, his annoyance entirely faked, just because he knows it will make Damen laugh.





	and every skyline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurxnts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurxnts/gifts).



> I hope you guys enjoy this super late Easter/Passover/Spring fic!! This AU is kind of my happy place away from my 95k CaPri WIP, so expect at least a few more sporadic updates!

It’s the last day before spring break, and Laurent doesn’t think he’s ever needed a week off as much as he does now. The children have been bouncing off the walls all week; their excitement buoyed by the promise of a week off of school and—for some of them, at least—a basket of candy waiting for them on Sunday morning. It’s finally Friday, though, and Laurent has given up on teaching altogether. When planning his lessons, he’d intended to have a quiz today, something small to mark over the break, but instead he’s watching twenty-two five year olds chase each other around the courtyard, shrieking and throwing sticks and climbing the playground equipment frantically.

Laurent sits in the shade from one of the trees, just outside the door of the building, and watches carefully for scraped knees or playground spats that might go too far with the heightened energy, but the children seem if not calm today, then at least mostly harmless.

“Knock knock,” comes a voice from the classroom door, and Laurent whirls around in his chair, shaking off the layer of drowsiness that had settled over him with the rare warmth of the day. Damen is leaning against the doorframe, a paper bag in one of his hands, smirking smugly and stupidly and—

“Hey,” Damen says, and when Laurent stands, he draws him close for a kiss, pressing their bodies together as Laurent tilts his head up for the second kiss, and the third. Laurent forces himself to pull away after that, though he remains ever-conscious of Damen’s hand resting on the curve of his waist. “How are the kids?”

“They’re kids,” Laurent replies because really, the children in his class sometimes transcend definition. “Did you pick up what I asked?”

“Oh, yeah,” Damen says, holding up the bag. “Hard candies, chocolates—really, Laurent, you’re giving them candy? I thought you wanted their parents to like you.”

The corners of his mouth are teased up, and Laurent can tell he’s trying to repress the smile. Damen’s hand tightens on his waist; he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re terrible,” Laurent decides judiciously. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“What?” Damen’s facade has fallen away completely, and this time when he leans down for a kiss it’s with a smile, shaking a little with repressed laughter.

“ _Damianos_ —” Laurent begins, his annoyance entirely faked, just because he knows it will make Damen laugh.

“Right, right. Someone dropped off a package for you outside your classroom. Five two, filled with rage, ate half of the chocolates on the way over here?”

Behind him, Laurent can hear a child shrieking with laughter, as he drops his forehead against Damen’s chest and barks out a laugh, Damen’s chest rumbling with his own laughter. Eventually, though, it subsides, and Laurent looks up, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Let me guess, he refused to come in and meet the children?”

“He didn’t even want to come onto the campus. It was like herding a drunk kitten,” Damen teases, though his voice is too soft for even Nicaise and his finely tuned ears to pick up, from the other side of the classroom. His thumb is stroking across the curve of Laurent’s waist.

“Can you watch the playground for me?” Laurent asks. He tucks an errant curl behind Damen’s ear, though he knows that on Damen’s days off it’s impossible to try and make him look well-groomed. Damen hums his agreement, gaze sweeping in front of him to catalogue the chaos. “You’re not allowed to give out the candy until we put them in the eggs, though. Don’t fall for the begging.”

“I wouldn’t,” Damen replies, mock-offended, and presses a gentle kiss to Laurent’s forehead. His hair is longer now, almost sweeping his shoulders, and Damen has to brush it out of Laurent’s face to land the kiss, his fingers trailing delicately along Laurent’s cheekbone. Despite the shrieks and giggles from the playground behind him, Laurent feels suddenly quiet, his attention focused wholly on Damen’s fingers on his skin, the ghosting of breath across his forehead.

“I should go,” he says, and makes no move to leave the comfort of his fiancé’s arms.

Finally, after what feels like longer than it probably is, Laurent hears someone—three guesses who—banging on the inside door of his classroom. He tries not to sigh, but Damen picks up on his slight reluctance anyway and makes the first move, drawing away and leaving Laurent standing alone in the spring air. _Later_ , he promises himself, and takes a step back into his classroom as Damen settles into the chair he had just vacated. There will be time for that later—all of the next week, in fact.

Laurent crosses the classroom slowly, picking his way through the mess the kids had left before running out to play. He’ll have them pick it all up later, before the candy, but for now he’s careful not to step on any art supplies or discarded lunch boxes on his way to the door. Once he reaches it, he takes a moment to breathe, to compose himself.

It’s been almost five months since he’s seen Nicaise. Of course, they call sometimes, and Nicaise snaps him pictures of the things he gets up to at UCLA, but it’s not the same as _seeing_ him. Over the last years, Laurent had watched him grow and learn and thrive with his former foster parents, with whom he still keep in touch, as far as Laurent’s aware. Nicaise is an adult now, almost nineteen and stubbornly short—just stubborn in general, perhaps. Laurent has not seen him since New Year’s, and he wonders how much Nicaise might have changed, might have grown in the months since.

He opens the door. At first Laurent doesn’t see him, until he turns and sees Nicaise slumped against the wall next to the door, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat and a scowl fixed on his face. His curls are as polished and put-together as always, and though he’s still a good five inches shorter than Laurent himself, Laurent can see the way his shoulders have filled in a little more, his already dark skin browned further by the California sun.

“Nicaise,” he greets, and hopes he doesn’t sound as overwhelmed as he feels. Nicaise glares at him, which really isn’t an indication of anything, but he pushes himself off of the wall and stands almost awkwardly in front of Laurent, his shoulders straightening and pushing back into his familiar, rigid posture. “How are you?”

“Hey,” Nicaise mumbles in response, eyes flicking down for a fraction of a second. The set of his shoulders is defensive, Laurent knows, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot. It’s always strange, Laurent has learned, to welcome Nicaise home. It always—aches, in a way that both of them understand but neither can articulate. “Just get it over with already.”

Laurent would pretend not to know what he means, but Nicaise might revoke his permission at the teasing, so he doesn’t bother. Instead, he steps forward and envelops Nicaise in an embrace, his arms slipping over the boy’s shoulders and drawing him in close. Laurent hears the groan muffled into his shoulder, but Nicaise’s token protests have faded in the months since he’d left the city for college. He had rarely initiated any sort of contact between them, before, and Laurent doesn’t blame him. The touches they had shared had been fleeting, and ignored when possible. Now, though, Nicaise inevitably relaxes into the hug, his arms eventually coming up to briefly squeeze Laurent in return, before he wriggles away from the weight of Laurent’s arms around him, shoving his hands back into his pockets in a way that manages to radiate both annoyance and affection.

“How are you?” Laurent repeats, because it’s the only thing he _can_ ask, right now. Nicaise shrugs, a fluid motion that seems to start from his chest, even under the heavy sweatshirt.

“Exhausted. Sore. I can’t believe you booked me an _economy_ class ticket.”

“Well, we had to pay for your university somehow.” He’s letting himself tease now, and the scowl Nicaise shoots at him is worth it. “Are you going to come in?”

“No,” Nicaise says, decisive. “I think I would rather die than spend time with your demon horde.”

Laurent frowns; he can feel the furrow between his brows. “That’s not very polite. Besides, I thought you would be looking forward to hiding candy from children.”

“I hate you,” Nicaise groans, which is a victory in and of itself. Laurent grins back at him, trying and failing to suppress the smugness, and holds the door to the classroom open.

“After you.”

Nicaise glares for a moment, before stepping through the door. He picks his way across the classroom as gingerly as Laurent had just minutes earlier, making his way out towards the door that opens up to the playground, half of Damen visible through the doorway, illuminated by the rare spring sunlight. For a moment it’s almost peaceful, until Nicaise steps on a tiny Lego construction, almost twists his ankle, and sets out a long stream of expletives that has Laurent instinctively reaching to cover a nonexistent child’s ears.

“You are in an _elementary school_ ,” Laurent hisses, and hears Damen stifling his laughter from just outside the door. Nicaise grumbles something that Laurent doesn’t catch, though it doesn’t quite sound pleasant, and stomps out of the door in a huff.

“I don’t even see why I need to be here,” he says, squinting in the sunlight with his arms folded over his chest.

“You don’t,” Damen agrees, and Laurent kicks the leg of his chair. “But we value your company, and deep down you probably like the kids at least a little bit.”

Nicaise looks offended at the mere suggestion. Laurent kicks the chair leg again.

“You can leave if you want, but then you'd have to find your own way back to the apartment, and I'd make you walk Hamlet,” Laurent offers, saccharine. The only thing worse than spending time with children, in Nicaise’s eyes, is spending time with a _dog_.

Nicaise looks like he's about to start swearing again—this time in earshot of at least a few of the children—when Vannes bursts through the door of the classroom, hurtling across it in a frenzy that always has Laurent wondering how she manages not to trip.

“Sorry,” she pants, bracing herself on Laurent and one of her own knees. Laurent doesn't quite have the heart to push her off, despite the sweat that's trickling down her forehead. “My sister—the eggs—I had to drive halfway to Boston to pick up those damned eggs.”

“Right.” She's laughing, through her heaving breaths, and Laurent can't help but laugh a bit with her.

“Am I too late?”

“Recess isn't even over yet,” Laurent assures her, and that's when she sees Nicaise, standing stubbornly a few feet away and looking at her in what's probably disgust.

“Who are you,” Nicaise bites, and Laurent resists the urge to rest his hand against his forehead. Damen snorts a laugh, though he can't see the scene playing out behind him, and Laurent takes his small pleasure in kicking the chair again, sending it an inch closer to toppling off the concrete step. Damen doesn't seem to notice, but he stifles what Laurent thinks would probably have been another laugh.

“Nicaise, you know who—” Laurent starts, only to be interrupted.

“You _'_ re Nicaise?” She sounds almost gleeful. Laurent abruptly regrets thinking that this was ever going to end well. “Oh my _god_ , Laurent has told me _so much_ about you—he didn't say you were so short, though—”

Nicaise, until this point standing if not politely then at least without open hostility, launches towards where Laurent and Vannes are standing with a noise of rage.

 _Don't mention his height,_ Laurent distinctly remembers telling her, about two hours ago. There goes any letter of recommendation he may have given for her next job. Damen manages to grab the back of Nicaise’s coat before he can reach the two of them, and Vannes clings onto Laurent with a peal of helpless laughter.

“I can't believe this,” Laurent says, mostly to himself, and staunchly ignores the smug look Damen shoots at him over Nicaise's head.

“Sorry,” Vannes apologizes (only half sincerely, Laurent can tell), and sticks out her hand. Nicaise growls, or maybe swears again, but when Damen drops the back of his jacket he reaches out to shake it reluctantly. “I'm Vannes, Laurent’s student teacher.”

“I know,” Nicaise admits. Vannes grins at him, and he scowls back. _Unstoppable force, immovable object._

“Great,” Laurent interjects, forcing a smile onto his face. “We should probably get to work.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Vannes is crowding a group of five-year-olds back into the classroom, two of them hanging off of her legs, while Laurent, Damen, and Nicaise finish stuffing mini candies into the plastic eggs Vannes had brought from her sister’s house. About every thirteen seconds, Laurent has had to stop Nicaise from eating another one of the candies, and it's slowed him down considerably; by the time they've finished, Damen’s plastic bag of eggs is considerably more full than Laurent’s own.

“Not everything is a competition,” Laurent says, trying to ignore Damen’s awful sandaled foot tracing a path up his calf. _“Damen.”_

“Right,” Damen agrees amicably. “But if it were, I'd win.”

Laurent narrows his eyes. “Not at everything.”

“You guys are gross,” Nicaise volunteers from his spot next to Laurent, through a mouthful of chocolate. At this point, Laurent is too exhausted to reprimand him. He'd thought dealing with five-year-olds was difficult, but _this—_

“Mister Laurent,” he hears, and feels a clumsy hand tugging at the hem of his sweater. Laurent looks down at the little girl from the chair behind his desk, and Damen’s foot disappears from his upper calf.

“Yes, Hana?” The little girl is standing, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Mister Laurent, are you gonna give us _candy?”_ Laurent smiles, and plucks a strand of grass from one of her tightly wound curls.

“Well, we’re going to play a game, and if you win then you get to eat as much candy as you like.” Her face brightens, revealing a gap where a tooth must once have been. Laurent grins down at her, and drops the grass into her waiting hand. She curls her chubby fist around it and runs off to her friends and her spot on the colored square, babbling excitedly without a second look.

When he turns back to the desk, Laurent finds Damen staring at him, a tiny, enamored smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” He asks, unable to keep the smile from his own voice. Damen just grins, his foot nudging Laurent’s again underneath the desk. Nicaise makes a disgusted noise, still muffled by chocolate, and without looking Laurent reaches over and grabs the bag of mixed chocolates from his stained hands. Nicaise swears ineffectually at him, and Laurent wonders the ratio of curses to _actual_ words he’s heard Nicaise speak in the last half hour.

Vannes is barely managing to keep a lid on the children's rambunctious energy, so Laurent stands from his desk and takes over, taking his place in front of the room to announce the activity to the children.

He barely manages to finish his mercifully brief announcement, because as soon as the kids hear the word candy they seem to lose any remnants of rational thought. He hates raising his voice to his class, and is only saved from the necessity by Vannes rapping sharply on the whiteboard and threatening to put half the class in time-out if they don’t manage to keep their voices down until the egg hunt begins.

While the class is chatting amongst itself, Laurent pulls her aside with Damen and Nicaise and tells them where to hide the eggs and where specifically not to, with a pointed glance at Nicaise. It should only take about ten minutes, but he trusts his ‘team’ even less than he’d initially thought possible.

“Why don’t you go with Damen?” Vannes asks, wide-eyed and innocent. Laurent narrows his eyes at her, and she smiles back. “I can handle this, right little dude?”

The boy still firmly attached to one of her legs grunts in what might be agreement. Her grin never wavers, and Laurent finds his resolve wavering when Nicaise aims a sharp kick to Damen’s shin after a hushed comment, and Damen has to muffle both a swear and a threat. The thought of getting away, for a brief second, is suddenly very alluring. Laurent nods, and almost immediately regrets it when Vannes pumps her fist in the air and leans down to high-five the child hugging her leg.

“ _Don’t_ do anything I wouldn’t do,” Laurent warns her with a glare, and she nods back distractedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now go make out with your husband for a few minutes and let me and Nicaise take care of this.”

“He’s _not_ —” Laurent protests ineffectually, because really, he might as well be. He instinctively strokes a thumb over the band on his left ring finger, warmed by skin and constant use.

It hadn’t been—unexpected. And yet it had still taken Laurent by surprise, when Damen had taken him to the stables outside the city, where Laurent has been a member since childhood. He had brought a picnic, and a blanket, and Laurent had been so soothed by the warm sun on his skin and the sound of the river and Damen’s lips on the back of his neck that he had been _surprised_ when Damen had pulled out the velvet box, his lips hardly straying from the place that has always made Laurent melt against him with a sigh. Laurent had not cried, but it had been a near thing.

They haven’t decided if they want a ceremony yet. Well, Laurent hasn’t decided. Damen would gladly throw a party, and would kiss Laurent readily in front of a crowd of hundreds. Laurent has his own reservations, and for him it is enough to wear Damen’s ring on his finger, to wake up in his arms every morning and come home to him every night.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Damen enthuses from behind him, and when he stands his hand falls to Laurent’s waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m at work,” Laurent says, pointlessly. Vannes just rolls her eyes, and gestures for them to leave. Laurent, fed up at protesting the evident coup, lets Damen tug him out of the classroom and into the bright spring air, the plastic bags full of eggs hanging from his wrist. Nicaise follows them reluctantly, eyeing his own bags like he realizes that there will soon be nothing stopping him from eating everything inside.

“Remember,” Laurent reminds him, just before Nicaise starts to head off towards the playground, “If any of them break a bone trying to get to your eggs, I’m forwarding you the hospital bill.”

Nicaise makes a face, but he nods and stomps off, grumbling under his breath. Laurent exhales a sigh, and lets his head drop to Damen’s chest.

“It could be worse,” Damen points out. “He could be sixteen again.”

Laurent laughs, and for a moment it’s difficult to make himself stop; the exhaustion of the last few weeks is starting to get to him, he can tell. Damen had been pulled away by an urgent case—had stayed up through all hours of the night trying to refine his argument—and Laurent had been left sleeping, restless, with Hamlet curled up in a giant puppy-shaped ball next to him where Damen usually had lain. He lets his fingers twine with Damen’s, and it’s Laurent’s turn to tug him into movement.

“Come on,” he urges, and feels something loosening in his chest. “I know some good spots to hide, and everyone else is in class right now.”

The corners of Damen’s lips tug up, and he follows Laurent down the old marble steps and into the courtyard.

They actually do spend some time hiding the small eggs, in nooks and crannies not too easily accessible that still hopefully won’t end in injury. Damen reaches up and hides them on the tops of ledges, above things that could easily be used as steps, and each time he drops his arm he drops another kiss onto Laurent’s lips, until they’re doing much more kissing than hiding. It’s soft and indulgent, and reminds Laurent of _exactly_ how long it’s been since either he or Damen had enough free time to do things like this: free and easy and so, so slow.

Of course, Laurent is still at work, and they are still on the campus of an elementary school, but it’s a nice reminder.

When all of the eggs have been hidden (more than ten minutes later, and Laurent reminds himself to thank Vannes, or at least invite her to dinner sometime), Damen throws the empty bags in a nearby bin and glances around furtively, before pulling Laurent under an arch, hidden from the sunlight and the prying eyes of whoever else might be wandering around campus.

“I should—get back soon,” Laurent says, lacking any kind of conviction. Damen raises one eyebrow, and gently presses Laurent backwards until his back hits the stone, cold seeping in through the back of his sweater as Damen presses warmth up against his front. Laurent’s arms twine thoughtlessly around Damen’s neck, pulling him down until their faces are inches apart. Damen’s lips are kiss-swollen already, and when they press against Laurent’s it’s a familiar pressure. Laurent feels Damen’s thumb stroke against his jaw and lets himself open, pressing himself against Damen until Damen gets the hint and holds him closer, tighter against the wall.

Laurent doesn’t know how long they kiss, sequestered away like teenagers hiding from the world, but he knows that when they break apart he can hear his class screaming and laughing as Vannes releases them onto their hunt. There aren’t any eggs hidden around here, but the point of the hunt is to look everywhere, and so he knows that they won’t stay undisturbed for long. Damen looks displeased at being denied more time with him, a pout already forming on his lips, and Laurent leans up and kisses it away.

“Nicaise is staying at a hotel,” he reminds him, and Damen hums into the next kiss thoughtfully. Nicaise had stayed at the apartment over winter break, and while Laurent hadn’t thought it had gone too badly, Nicaise had asked to stay in one of the smaller hotels just a few blocks away from the apartment. Laurent understands—it’s a lot, sometimes, being around each other. Nicaise is his brother now, as much as Auguste ever was, but sometimes the weight of their shared history leaves them both too raw to stand the proximity for too long. Nicaise had spent a large portion of winter break barricaded away in their spare room, speaking in rapid-fire Tagalog with friends from California and his old foster family.

“So tonight...” Damen trails off with a series of kisses pressed to Laurent’s jaw, and Laurent gasps as his head tilts, instinctively, to the side.

“ _After_ we take him to dinner.” Damen groans, but the vibrations send a jolt of pleasure down Laurent’s spine and he has to remind himself—children. He leans away, resting himself against the stone, and Damen lets him go, one hand reaching down to take Laurent’s again. It’s a small comfort, and Laurent’s ring glints gold against the warm brown of Damen’s skin.

“You’re gonna marry me, right?” Damen asks quietly. Their foreheads rest together gently; Damen’s voice echoes slightly against the stone. Laurent looks up at him, and feels his breath stolen by the straight slope of Damen’s nose, the warmth in his dark eyes, the curl of his hair against his forehead. Damen is beautiful, and he’s looking down at Laurent like he’s the only thing that has ever mattered, or that ever will. Laurent feels the smile that takes over his face, and does nothing to stop it.

“Yes,” he agrees, hushed. Damen beams, like he hadn’t known the answer before he had asked, and tugs Laurent’s hand up to his mouth to kiss the back, eyes never straying from Laurent’s own. And—he _will_ , be it at the courthouse or surrounded by his friends and Damen’s family. _Laurent’s_ family. It aches, the thought of a wedding without Auguste there to tell stories and embarrass Laurent and find a friendly rapport with Damen’s side of the family—but Laurent has Nicaise now, he has Vannes and Jord and Damen and somehow, he thinks that he would manage.

“You’re beautiful,” Damen murmurs. Laurent lets his eyes flutter shut, feels the weight of the word wash over him like a flood. _Beautiful_.

“You are too.” Damen huffs a little laugh that Laurent feels blown onto the bridge of his nose. “You _are_.”

“That’s my line.” Laurent barely has time to smile before Damen is kissing him again, and again, and he forgets entirely about the egg hunt and the children running and whatever hell Nicaise might be raising off with Vannes, and he lets himself be kissed until both of them are out of breath and heaving, their bodies pressed together from the chest down. Even in the shade Laurent can feel the heat starting to get to him, Damen’s finger’s leaving warm imprints on Laurent’s hips, his jaw, his waist. Laurent thinks that he could live like this forever, if he were allowed. He can feel himself starting to rouse, slow and unmistakable, against Damen’s hip, and has to force down the physical reaction. He hasn’t had much practice with that, in recent years, but it’s enough to stave off the simmering arousal that sits in his gut with nowhere to go.

It’s only when they hear Vannes calling for him from across the courtyard that Laurent pushes Damen away, their lips swollen and slick and aching. Laurent keeps his eyes closed and tries to compose himself with deep, slow breaths. He can tell without looking that Damen is admiring his handiwork with that smug little grin, though he likely looks equally debauched.

“We should go,” Laurent says, when Vannes calls his name again. When he opens his eyes Damen nods, and reaches up with a smile to smooth down Laurent’s hair, where his fingers had tangled in it briefly. Laurent doesn’t even try to pat down Damen’s mane; he knows he’d probably just do more harm. Damen takes his hand again, when they’re done straightening themselves, and tugs him out of the shadow of the arch.

The sun hits them like a train, warming Laurent’s cooled skin almost instantly in its intensity. Damen lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, and Laurent detaches himself from his side until they’re only linked by their hands. If the year continues like this, they won’t be able to spend a single night until October with the fan off, cooling them as they sleep.

It turns out that Vannes is calling them because the egg hunt is almost over, and Laurent flushes when he realizes exactly how long they had spent kissing under that arch. She winks at them when they return, and Nicaise makes retching noises from Laurent’s desk. His boots are propped up on the desk, but Laurent doesn’t quite have the energy to reprimand him. He catches Nicaise looking at them, though, when he turns briefly. Nicaise looks away almost immediately, glaring down at the paint-stained desk, but Laurent can just barely make out the dusky blush rising on his cheeks.

School ends not long after, and the four of them stay behind to escape the rush of students and teachers alike scrambling to escape school for the next week. Laurent’s class is practically bouncing off the walls when their parents arrive to pick them up, and thankfully most of them attribute that to the impending vacation, and not any kind of candy their teacher may have supplied them with. Laurent greets a few with whom he’s friendly, and introduces one or two to Damen. Thankfully, no one seems to want to stay and chat for too long, and soon enough the classroom is empty.

“Can we go now?” Nicaise asks. Laurent almost mentions that it shouldn’t matter to him; he’s been on his phone for the last half hour, staunchly ignoring any child that had tried to approach him. He seems to be texting, and once or twice Laurent had even seen him _smiling_. It’s not his place to ask, but he’s glad.

“Sure.” He takes the time to check his bag, which he’d packed this morning with the few things he needs to take home for the holiday. He adds a few things, swats Nicaise’s feet off of his desk, and finally decides that he’s ready to leave, and not sorry to either. He needs the break as much as—if not more than—the children.

“Bye, Laurent!” Vannes bids him, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. Laurent tugs her into a brief embrace, and promises to invite her over for dinner at least once this week. She leaves, off to one of her classes, and the three of them follow her out.

Laurent locks the door behind him and slips his keys into his bag, staring briefly at the clouded glass window. He can feel the exhaustion and the relief creeping into his bones, and his posture sags almost imperceptibly. Seconds later, Damen’s strong arm wraps around his waist, and he tugs Laurent into his side with a murmur of “c’mere.”

“One week,” Laurent says, quiet. Damen smiles down at him.

“One week. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Laurent covers the hand Damen has on his waist with his own, and returns the smile wearily, though no less enthusiastically.

“We could take Nicaise to that new Thai place on fourth,” he suggests. Nicaise hums in agreement, tapping out something on his phone screen, and Laurent feels something warm and content settle in his chest.

It’s hard to believe, sometimes, that it’s all over. That he’s _safe_ , and that Uncle is _gone_ , and that Nicaise is alive and well and _okay_ despite everything, despite those awful nights spent at his bedside, waiting for the steady beat of his heart to scream into a flatline at any moment.

They’re okay, Laurent reminds himself, and in the warm, bright air of spring with Damen’s ring warm on his finger, he finds that it’s as easy to believe as Damen’s fingers twined between his.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://jvstens.co.vu) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/verelesbian)


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